Chapter 2

Dad helped me out of the car and held my hand, as we went into the house. We stood just inside the doorway, as he hung up his keys. When he turned around, I was standing there in front of him, my hands hanging down in front of me, my fingers interlaced. Then he stepped up, placing his hand on my shoulder.

"You looked beautiful tonight, Jessie."

Then he leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I took a quick breath and said thank you, telling him how handsome I thought he looked. He was about to walk away, when I reached a hand out for his. He stopped and turned to me. I looked up and said, "Dad..." The wrinkles around his eyes deepened when he grinned. I stepped over and, very quickly, stood up on my toes and softly kissed him on the lips. I stepped back, looking down at my hands, and nervously whispered. "That was supposed to be for my date," I mumbled. "So... I guess you're supposed to have it now." He put his hand on my arm, and then leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you," he whispered in my ear, and then gave me a warm smile and walked upstairs to his bedroom.

I undressed in my room while dad did the same in his. I was wearing a white lace push-up bra with matching garter and stockings that I'd bought for my date. In fact, I'd planned on losing my virginity on the night of my senior prom. Unfortunately, I didn't find a date that I felt deserved something that special. I was about to unclasp my bra when I stopped and looked over at my door. I walked over to the closet and put on my robe, and then carefully opened the bedroom door. The hallway light was still on and the door to my dad's bedroom was open a crack. I went over and knocked softly, peering inside. My dad was sitting in bed reading.

"Hi," he said, putting his hand in his book and closing it. Only the small reading lamp next to his bed lit the room. My heart pounded in my chest, as I slowly walked in, stopping at the foot of the bed, my hands jammed deep in the pockets of my robe.

He stared at me for a moment, and then finally asked if I had a nice evening. I nodded, then looked up and said with a stutter, "Dad... c-can I show you... something?" He adjusted himself, as he leaned back against his pillow, and smiled. "Sure," he said. My knees were trembling, as I walked around to his side of the bed. My hands came out and I hooked my fingers into the belt of my robe.

"I... I d-don't want you to... freak out, ok?" I whispered.

He smiled, but gave me a puzzled look.

"Ok... I won't."

"P-promise?"

He squinted his eyes and slowly nodded, wondering what I was up to.

"Ok," I said. I licked my lips and swallowed, then said, "Dad... I got this for my date... for the guy that was supposed to be my date... well... I guess that ended up being you... but I didn't know it was gonna be you... ok?"

He nodded again, saying quietly, "Jess, are you... are you ok?"

My head jittered up and down nervously, and I slowly pulled my belt loose. I lifted my eyes to his. He gave me a curious smile, and then looked down at my hands. I let the belt fall apart and brought my hands up to my collar, and then slowly pulled open my robe, letting it fall down my shoulders, hooking onto my elbows. I stood there in my negligee, my hands shaking and held up just high enough to keep my robe from falling to the floor. Then I looked up at him and smiled nervously. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Dad seemed to be staring right through me, like he was in a deep trance. There was no expression on his face. I looked down at my body. My breasts, pushed up as they were, were jiggling as my body trembled.

"W-well?" I asked, my voice cracking.

He sat there, still staring at me blankly.

"Dad... ?"

Then he took his glasses off and set them and his book on the nightstand. He swung his feet to the floor and stepped over to me, then carefully pulled my robe back up, closing it and tying the belt. With his hand still on the belt, he put a finger under my chin and lifted my eyes to his.

"You're a beautiful young woman, Jessica," he whispered.

I felt like crying for humiliating him like this.

"Thank you," I replied and smiled warmly.

"You oughta get to bed," he said.

I nodded, and just before I turned to walk away said, "Dad... I love you... you're very handsome." And then I quickly walked back to my bedroom and shut the door. I took off my robe and looked at myself in the mirror. I sniffed back my tears and removed the negligee, placing it in my dresser drawer.

In the middle of the night, I woke to go to the bathroom. My dad's door was still open. When I came back, I peeked inside. The light was out and he was sound asleep. Wearing only panties and my robe, I quietly entered his room and slipped into bed next to him. I lay facing him for a while, and then closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to sunlight flooding through the open windows. Still groggy, I slowly sat up, shading my eyes from the bright light. The bedroom door was closed. I looked at my dad's side of the bed and he was gone. With much effort, I flung my feet to the floor and looked down at my body. My robe had come untied during the night and my bare chest, breasts and all, was open for all the world to see. Then my memory from the night before came back to haunt me. I shook my head and cinched my robe closed. I stood up, mumbling, "God... probably saw my tits." Then I walked to the bathroom. Inside, I took off my robe and panties and turned on the shower. Outside in the backyard, I heard the lawnmower start up. I peeked out the window and saw my dad pushing it around the yard. Then I went back to the shower and stepped inside.

A short time later, I was in my bedroom, standing at the closet buck naked trying to decide what to wear, when I heard a soft knock on my door - my open door. Before I could react, my dad poked his head inside and said, "Hey Jess, you know where the..." And then our eyes met. He looked me up and down and I swallowed hard. Then he pulled away and shut the door quickly. It all happened very fast.

"Sorry!" he called from the hallway.

I stood there stunned. My dad had just seen me naked. Worse yet, he checked me out! Or so I thought. I gasped nervously, and fell back onto the corner of my bed.

"It's... it's ok!" I yelled back.

I looked down at myself; at my naked body. As incredible, or idiotic, as it may seem, when I saw my bright orange pubic hair, my first thought was, "God, I really need to trim that up." Then I chuckled and fell flat on my back, my heart racing wildly.

A few minutes later, I walked downstairs - this time, fully dressed.

"Dad?"

Then I heard the lawnmower start up again. I had butterflies in my stomach, as I walked to the backdoor leading out to the patio. Through the sliding glass door, I saw him pushing the mower. He finished one row and, as he turned around, happened to look in my direction. I giggled and stuck out my tongue. He lifted a hand and waved, then continued on his way, seeming to shake his head, probably out of embarrassment. Half an hour later, I heard the mower stop. When he didn't come inside right away, I walked out the back door to find him. He was just entering the garage, pushing the mower in front of him. I walked down the steps in my bare feet, my arms folded, and headed toward the garage. As I stood in the doorway, he placed the mower behind our bikes, and then turned in my direction. I leaned against the wall and give him a knowing smile. When he saw me, he stopped, brushed his hands together, and chuckled.

"I, uh..." Then he grinned, clearly uncomfortable with what had happened, and said, "Sorry 'bout that."

I smirked, replying, "What were you gonna ask me?"

Then his demeanor changed dramatically, obviously an attempt to bring things back to a normal plane of existence, and said, looking back at the mower, "Oh, I was just wondering if you knew where the oil for that thing was. I found it." As he walked past me back to the house, he patted my shoulder. I gave him a pretend glare and came up behind him and slapped his ass. He yelped and gave me look of surprise.

"Bad boy," I grumbled, still pretending to be mad at him. But the truth is, I was the bad person here. What he did was an honest mistake, an accident. What I did the night before had purpose and intent behind it.

I was in the kitchen making us some sandwiches for lunch, when dad walked in and took two glasses out of the cupboard. "Something to drink?" he asked. I smiled and nodded. After he poured the drinks, he came over and set mine on the counter next to me.

"Jess... I'm... sorry about this morning. I shoulda knocked and waited for an answer. I'm really sorry about that."

I was cutting our sandwiches in half and grinned.

"Eh, it's ok," I replied with a shrug. Then I stopped cutting and, still looking down, quietly apologized for the night before. He was taking a drink and set his glass down, and then put his hand on my shoulder.

"Nah," he said. "Don't have to apologize. It was your special night."

I glanced up and smiled. He squeezed my shoulder, and then went out toward the living room. But then he stopped in the doorway and turned around.

"Say, uh... Jess?"

I turned, setting the knife in the sink.

He was standing slightly sideways, like he didn't want to look directly at me.

"You looked very beautiful... last night."

I took a deep breath and smiled. "Thank you, daddy."

He remained standing there for a moment, and, after a short pause, glanced once more in my direction and said hesitantly, "I want you to promise me something, sweetheart."

"Sure... ok."

Then he looked right at me and said, "Jess... I want you to save yourself for someone special, ok?"

I nodded quickly, replying, "Yeah... ok. I will. Promise."

He grinned and nodded, and then walked out to the living room.

For the next few weeks, there seemed to be an unspoken tension between us. Nothing that left you feeling bad or awkward, rather... something unacknowledged. We went on with life as usual, but this strange feeling remained lurking in the background. I spent many long hours thinking about it; thinking about my dad and my feelings for him. I also knew it was wrong, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. Why was it wrong to love him? That is, why was it wrong to be in love with him? And that's what it was: romantic feelings I was having for him. At first I thought it was merely a phase, something I'd get over in short order, but it had been slowly developing over the last few years. In fact, it seemed to have always been there, only now coming to fruition where I could recognize it for what it was. When I went out on dates, I always felt awful about leaving him behind; about not being with him instead. He went on two more dates with other women, since his first with Janice, and all three times I felt nothing but sadness and jealousy. And when he came home, I was practically all over him; talking with him, talking about anything but his date, subconsciously reminding him of me; of what he already had here at home. I didn't even think of him in terms of sexuality. Sure, I thought he was a nice looking man and, judging by the remarks of my friends, they seemed to think so, as well. But it was more than that. I admit to being attracted to him, but it wasn't something of a solely sexual nature. I was emotionally attracted to him, too. Everything about him seemed perfect to me. He was kind and generous, thoughtful and courteous. He was interesting to talk to and fun to be around. Even if all we did was rent a movie and order a pizza, I was happy as a clam sitting next to him on the couch and sharing the last breadstick. I felt bad when other teens my age talked ill of their parents. I just couldn't do it because I had no reason. What was there to complain about?

What I finally admitted to myself was not that I was falling in love with my dad, but that I was already there. I was in love with him and had been for some time. I also knew I wanted it to stay along the course I was heading. I was definitely treading on thin ice, going into uncharted, perhaps even dangerous, territory. In the end, I might end up destroying our relationship. But the feelings I felt for him were strong and persistent, gathering strength with each passing day. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to be with him.

After I graduated, I spent the first few weeks of summer sitting around at home. Every day, I'd head into town to meet dad at his office on campus for lunch where he was an associate professor of English at the university. Sometimes we'd walk downtown to an outdoor cafe and other times I'd make us something. And he was always happy to see me. I'd put my arm through his and we'd find some place to eat. Then one day, while sitting on a bench outside his building, he asked if I had decided on a college to attend. I shoved the remains of a bagel in my mouth and nodded.

"What'd ya decide?" he asked.

As I chewed, I pointed my finger downward.

"Here?" he asked.

With my cheeks bulging, I nodded and tried to smile.

"Thought about a major?" he asked.

I swallowed hard and nodded again. I took a sip of my soda, and then smacked my lips, replying happily, "English!"

Dad grinned and put his arm around me.

"Now why would you pick that as your major?"

I took another drink and shrugged.

"Lemme guess," he said, putting his hand to his chin and affecting a look of careful consideration. "Would I have anything to do with it?"

I nearly choked when he said that. I hadn't actually thought of that as my reasoning, but in a way, he was right. I had to admit it. Choosing English as my major would bring me into closer contact with him. I also picked it because it was something I had an interest in. After all, our house was filled to capacity with books, and when you're the only child in a single-parent household, sometimes your best friend is a good book. But I didn't want my dad to know any of this. I pushed out my lower lip and pretended to pout.

"You want me to pick another major?" I asked sadly.

He hugged his arm around me and chuckled. "No, no... It's a good major," he said. "I think you'll enjoy it. Plus I'll get to see you more, huh?"

I leaned against him and smiled.

"Been thinking of where you'd like to go on vacation?" he asked.

Every summer, come hell or high water, we always went on vacation, and he always let me choose the destination - within reason, of course.

"Let's go back to Colorado," I replied. "That was fun. We could go whitewater rafting again, camp out in the Rockies. That was a lotta fun."

He crossed one leg over the other and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Sounds good."

We talked for a while longer, and then we walked back to his office. I was in such a blissful mood, holding his hand on the walk back and swinging our entwined fingers.

Over the next month, I filled out all the requisite paperwork to become a student at the university. I also worked out an itinerary for a weeklong vacation to Colorado. This would also be the time that I, for lack of a better way of putting it, would make a move on him. Not necessarily in a sexual way, although the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to. Rather I wanted to see if I could advance the relationship we shared. And, being so far away from home, we would be forced to deal with it; unable to simply walk away and pretend like it didn't happen. This vacation was going to be the turning point one way or another.

In the meantime, I continued to take little steps in that direction. I'd meet him for lunch, hold his hand whenever I could; if he put his arm around me, whether we were sitting or standing, I'd move a little closer to him. And I'd spend less time in my own bedroom and more in his.

One night, as he sat in bed reading, while I sat on my side brushing my hair, I was looking in the direction of his dresser and had an idea. Without looking at him, I asked if I could keep a few things in one of his drawers. There was a momentary pause before he answered. "Well," he replied. "I guess that'd be ok. How come?" I continued brushing my hair, facing away from him, and shrugged. "I dunno," I replied. "Guess I'm just in here enough, it'd be nice to have some socks and stuff more handy."

Socks. That's not what I had in mind to put in there.

"Sure," he said. I slowly turned to look at him. He was smiling and said, "Just pick a drawer, I guess. You can move around whatever you need."

"Thanks," I said with a big grin.

The next day, while he was at work, I opened his top dresser drawer. It was filled with socks, t-shirts, and boxers. I put my hands inside and carefully pushed everything a few inches to the left, trying to create enough empty space on the right for my stuff. I wasn't sure what I could remove from his drawer to make more room, so I settled for the eight or nine inches I was able to scrounge. Then I went to my bedroom, opened my top drawer, and picked out a few items.

Socks, a couple t-shirts... then I thought about my panties and bras. Then I thought about my lingerie. The lingerie might be going too far, so I settled for socks, t-shirts, and a few panties and bras. Surely he'd see these, when he opened his drawer. I picked out the items and carried them in my arms to dad's room, and, one by one, put them in their new home. Socks in back, t-shirts on the bottom, panties and bras on top - where he couldn't miss them.

Satisfied that everything was in place, I closed the drawer and went to meet him for lunch.

I had to wait until the next morning before he would get into his drawer again, and it was nearly torture having to wait that long. That night, as he laid in bed reading, I crawled under the covers next to him, and he asked if I had enough room for my stuff. I rolled over, my face buried in my pillow, and smiled up at him. "Yep," I replied. He turned his eyes to me and smiled. "Unless you wanna gimme an entire drawer," I happily suggested, wiggling my eyebrows up and down. Dad went back to reading his book and chuckled. But then he sort of took me by surprise. "Yeah, sure," he replied. "Just make sure you put my stuff where I can find it again." I was so elated; I quickly reached out under the blankets for him and gripped his leg. My hand landed on his hip, my fingers not a few inches from his groin. Apparently startled, he looked down at me and smiled. I grinned and thanked him once more.

Then next day, I woke up about an hour after he'd gone to work. I swung my legs onto the floor and hopped over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer. A smile crept across my face: he'd been in there that morning. Some of his socks and boxers had been moved around. There was no doubt about it: he'd seen my panties and bra.

I ran over to my bedroom and pulled out some more panties and bras and socks, and then hauled them over to his room. For the next half hour, I tried rearranging things in his top drawer so that mine would fit. In the end, the left half was his and the right mine.

That night, as he sat in bed reading, I walked up to his room and knocked softly on the partially open door. I peeked inside and dad smiled and waved me in. As I closed the door behind me, he said, "Ya know, Jess, you don't have to knock. Just come on in." I stood at the side of the bed and giggled nervously. "Ok," I whispered. Then he went back to his book, as I held my hairbrush in my hand.

"Dad?"

He turned to me.

I held up the brush and, rather timidly, asked if I could keep it in his bedroom. He nodded and went back to his book. I smiled and went to the dresser and opened the drawer with my clothes in it. There was a mirror on his dresser, not very large, but enough that, if he wanted to see my face, he wouldn't have much difficulty. I gazed down into the drawer, running my fingers over my bras and panties. I thought, well, if I'm moving into his room, albeit slowly, I might as well take full advantage of it. I took a deep breath, and then put my hands at the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. I was too scared to lift my eyes to the mirror to see if he was watching me. I carefully folded my t-shirt, set it on the dresser, and then reached behind to unclasp my bra. I let it fall down my arms and quickly folded it, placing it in the drawer with the others. Curiosity got the better of me and I carefully raised an eyebrow, looking at the mirror. He was still reading his book. Feeling a bit of disappointment, I suddenly put my hands over my breasts and turned slightly in his direction.

"Dad?" I said nervously.

He didn't look up, only nodding his head, mumbling, "Hmm?"

Subconsciously, I was thinking, "Look at me, damnit!" Then I thought, wait a second: What am I going to say? Once again, I hadn't thought that far ahead. As I searched for something to ask him, he looked up in my direction. Our eyes made contact and he had a somewhat startled expression on his face. I felt myself blush and instinctively glanced down at my hands covering my breasts.